


Wretched and Divine

by poisonedcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (non-con is nothing to do with deancas), Brief allusions to abuse and noncon, Demon!Dean, M/M, Non-explicit abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonedcas/pseuds/poisonedcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's descent into Hell takes Castiel tumbling with him and as newly minted King of Hell, certain things are expected of him. As time goes on, it becomes increasingly obvious that the things expected of him are not within his power. This is the story of how Dean Winchester gained the throne of Hell, and how he lost it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wretched and Divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dazedrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazedrose/gifts).



Dean is becoming a demon, deep down he knows this, knows what the Mark is changing him into as the blood lust rises in him, although it's a part of him he's trying desperately to push down and forget.

It all changes when he dies. He dies and it’s black and it’s _wrong_ this is not how death is supposed to be, hell, Dean himself has died enough times that he could tell you that. Wrong how, he can’t quite put into words. At least not until he wakes with the words,

“Now let’s go take a howl at that moon,”

ringing in his ears, and a grey taint overlaying his vision. Then Dean knows exactly why it was wrong, even before he dredges Crowley’s words back out of the depths of his head. That wasn’t death he was feeling, not death at all, just a new kind of life.

Dean rises through the ranks quickly, not much would take on a newly minted Knight of Hell after all. The final barrier is Crowley and he’s barely more than a gnat in the scheme of things. Dean takes him out with an ease that’s almost laughable, and then, well, Dean is King of Hell, and ain’t that just the damndest thing.

Sam takes one look at the note that says “Sammy, let me go,” and he calls Cas, Cas who’s falling and broken, Cas who doesn’t have all the pieces to fix himself, let alone Dean. And Castiel, well, Castiel does what any self-respecting Winchester would do for family. He goes to a crossroads, and he sells his soul. Well, he tries to sell his soul, or at least whatever angels have that purports to be a soul. What he wasn’t expecting was it to be Dean who turned up at the crossroads when he called, for Dean to make a deal with him that Castiel has to come to Hell _now_ and if he can _fix_ Dean then he doesn’t have to give anything up at all. Dean has a look on his face like he doesn’t want to be fixed and a gleam in his eye that says he won’t be pushed into anything he doesn’t want. No souls, no grace, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Castiel takes the deal. Of course.

The deal is sealed with a kiss, it’s biting and vicious and nothing that Castiel ever wanted from Dean. By the time Dean finishes Castiel’s lips are swollen and bruised and there’s just the faintest taste of blood in his mouth and all Castiel knows is that of every single one of his firsts, this is the one he’d choose to erase and overwrite. His first kiss with Dean was never supposed to be like this, this is barely concealed violence and simmering anger, a wretched thing, and it can’t be taken back. He’s turning away before he knows what he’s doing, a hand fisted in front of his mouth and a growing sense of wrongness in his chest.

He retches, he can’t help himself, the taste of Dean in his mouth is sour and wrong and the nausea comes on him suddenly. He’s bending over, his hands braced on his knees when there’s a light touch on the back of his neck. Castiel flinches and the hand draws away, although not for long.

A whispered apology, one that gives Castiel the hope that there’s something there to save, and the hand is back, pressing on his throat and depriving him of air until the world fades to black. Castiel’s last thought is of the fact that Dean still shows no mercy, regardless of the apology. After all, Dean is powerful enough to knock out with a touch now, there was no need to put Castiel through that. Other than because he wanted to, wanted to flaunt the power he holds over Castiel, the once angel, now barely even a man.

He wakes up in chains. Now, that’s not a new experience in itself, but the fact that Dean Winchester put him in them, that’s new. There’s a spark of anger in Cas that can’t be put out, and he yanks at his chains, trying to get loose. Dean smirks, and Cas can’t help the visceral attraction he feels at the amount of pure _sex_ oozing out of every pore of Dean, even as he’s repulsed by the changes in him.

He continues to pull at his chains until Dean draws the First Blade. He stills and Dean takes that as his cue to speak.  
“Ah, ah, ah, little angel,” His voice is sickly sweet and mocking. “No rebellion for you.”

The ugly teeth of the knife catch the light as Cas leans backwards, away from where Dean is pacing closer and closer.

“What’s the matter?” Dean feigns hurt very well, far too well given how Castiel knows Dean, knows he’s the type to lock everything away inside. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Castiel distantly considers telling him the truth, that nothing could make him happy right now, when the man he loves is wrong, wrong, _wrong_. But he doesn’t, he reigns himself in, tells himself it won’t help his cause any and stops himself from leaning away, deliberately pushes himself till he’s leaning closer to Dean, closer than he wants to be given Dean’s earlier display and the fact he’s still holding a knife.

“Dean,” his voice is rough, but then he was choked just minutes ago. “Dean,” he tries again, voice stronger this time. “I’ve missed you.”

It’s Dean’s turn to flinch, no less obvious than Cas’ was earlier, although the cause is less discernible, because demons aren’t supposed to feel, right? But if Castiel isn’t mistaken then that looked distinctly like a flash of regret crossing Dean’s face just then. Maybe there’s more hope for Dean than he originally thought, maybe they have a chance of the both of them coming out of this alive.

It’s been years, Castiel loses track of time after around the first century or so. Dean isn’t getting any better, not really, even with the last few shards of Castiel’s grace sunk into him in an effort to pull him out of the pit he’s fallen into. Worst of all, Dean isn’t even human enough to care about what’s happening to Castiel, to care about how low this once mighty angel, this Warrior of God, has fallen. Castiel thinks that’s the part that hurts the most, but he still can’t bring himself to regret what he’s done. To regret that he’s chained up like a pet by the throne of the demon king, if it at least gets him one step closer to his goal of gripping Dean Winchester tight and raising him from Perdition just one more time.

About five years later, Dean has finally reached a stage in his duties where he has to go out into the main areas and actually converse with his subjects. He’s strangely protective of Cas, even though the black eyes are enough to make Cas flinch away on a good day. Cas suspects that the protectiveness comes because Dean feels like Cas is his possession. Whatever the reason, Dean’s protectiveness means Cas is left with Dean’s advisor, his right hand man. This is Dean’s first mistake. This is when the abuse starts.

It will take months for Dean to find out. All the fight drains out of Cas when the words

“Our King commanded it,”

come out of the demon - Moloch’s - mouth. He does briefly contemplate asking Dean about the validity of the demon's claim as he can't believe this of Dean, he thinks that even at his worst Dean still does everything he can to protect Castiel from harm but he voices this thought out loud to the advisor and the contemptuous look he gets from the demon quashes any doubts he may have had.

Dean finally discovers what’s happening on a Thursday. Castiel would think it fitting if he hadn’t lost all track of time by this point. Dean walks in on the aftermath, having just come back from a meeting with all the leaders of the factions. He takes one look at Cas - bruised and bloodied on the floor, the advisor standing above him - and he draws his blade. Cas curls in on himself, terrified of the retribution that’s surely coming to him, and so he doesn’t see Dean stab his own advisor through the place his heart would be with a horrified look on his face. The first he knows of the events that have passed is when Dean drops to his knees beside him with a whispered

“Why?”

and that same look of horror still plastered across his features, eyes still black but somehow expressive.  
It’s what Castiel says next that truly shakes him, the words

“Because _you_ commanded it.”

come out of Castiel’s mouth and the horror is wiped away by revulsion and self loathing. His eyes flicker back to green, just for a moment, as he attempts to collect himself, and Castiel stares at him in surprise. They’re back to black when Dean speaks again, though his voice is small.  
“I didn’t- I wouldn’t- Cas, you gotta believe me.”  
And Castiel does, because there’s something in him that always believed Dean wasn’t that far beyond saving.

That day marks the beginning of Dean Winchester’s ascent back to humanity. It begins with the King of Hell lifting an Angel who didn’t so much fall as crash land into Hell, up off the floor. Both leaning on the other as they make their way, slowly, out of the throne room. With every tender touch, every swipe of a cool cloth over his overheated, bruised and beaten skin, Castiel is reminded of the days when he and Dean were a team, when they fought and lived and _loved_ together and it hurts. There’s no other way to put it, it aches like the bruises Dean is trying so carefully to avoid, because they’re not the same, not even close.

The abuse lasted for months, but Dean doesn’t know that and Castiel isn’t going to be the one to tell him. He’s not going to be the one to bring up the fact that it wasn’t just one of them, that they did much worse things than beat him. That when he closes his eyes he sees them forcing themselves on him. Dean does not need to know these things. Not when he’s already touching Cas like he’s fragile, tending to his wounds with a care that suggests he’s terrified he’ll break him.

The worst thing about the whole ordeal is once Dean finishes cleaning Cas up afterwards, he refuses to touch him. Cas realises he’s broken, but all the same, he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. This is a systematic shunning of his presence, he’s left in the throne room for days on end with only his thoughts for company and the stinging in his knees having knelt for so long to ground him in the here and now. He finally snaps when his knees almost give way in the middle of an important meeting, but when he tries to lean on Dean’s leg to support himself, Dean flinches away and Castiel narrowly avoids hitting the floor. He spits, uncharacteristically bitterly for him

“I know I’m dirty and broken but you could at least allow me this.”

and Dean flinches again, though for a different reason this time. Castiel isn’t expecting Dean to throw everyone out and lower himself to the ground next to Castiel, but that’s exactly what he does. The faction leaders grumble as they file out, but one look from Dean stops that dead and the final few leave in silence.

His face is soft, a strange juxtaposition to what Castiel knows the black eyes should mean, but his voice matches his face when he speaks, quietly

“Cas.”

He thinks he should stop that where it stands, the nickname feels wrong coming out of this Dean’s mouth, regardless of how much he tries to convince himself that Dean is still _Dean_. “I don’t think that, it’s just- I didn’t want to be like _them_ you know.” He pauses and his face drops, “I know they did worse things to you than beat you.” Castiel closes his eyes- because he thought he’d kept that from Dean, obviously he hadn’t covered for it as well as he’d presumed- but Dean continues to talk. “And I know you won’t talk about it, but I didn’t- I _don’t_ want to touch you, not without your permission.” Castiel thinks maybe Dean is closer to humanity than he realised, close enough to care, but far enough away that he doesn’t have that iron vault of his feelings locked away quite yet.

It doesn’t take much to bring tears to Castiel’s eyes these days, so when he opens his eyes and Dean’s, when he meets them, are green again for the first time in god knows how long, Castiel finds that he’s crying.

Dean looks bewildered, as if he’s not quite sure what to do with the grown man sat in front of him with tears rolling down his face. His eyes flick black again, the shock of Cas crying all it takes to disturb the fragile balance. He reaches out and the abruptly stops the movement, dropping his hand back to his side and clenching his fist. Then he stands and walks away, leaving Cas there on the floor, choking back his tears.

Weeks pass, the demonic layer surrounding Dean’s soul, the one that’s twisting it and shadowing its light away from the rest of the world, is slowly beginning to crack and fall away. Castiel has fallen too far to see this, but he knows that something is changing within Dean.

It takes a while for the changes to become obvious, the court goes through improvements in the meantime. Dean gets a new advisor. Castiel still flinches every time he comes near, but life goes on.

Dean becomes more and more withdrawn as time progresses, going from meetings straight to his private rooms, stopping to talk to no one. Cas isn’t left in the throne room any more, he has his own space within Dean’s rooms, and Dean comes to him at night. His eyes green in a way that Cas is growing to resent, a reminder of the Dean he could have had, if only circumstances had been different, if only Castiel had been a doctor or a priest, if only Dean had been a mechanic or an author. But if onlys don’t keep anybody warm at night.

Anyway, Dean comes to him and he talks, often about unexpected things, such as how much he misses pie, or Sam, or the Impala. He talks about how Hell is different to earth and what he wishes he could change but knows he can’t. He talks and Cas pretends not to see the wet sheen in his eyes, it hurts too much to think about the fact that Dean seems so much more human than he did before.

The withdrawal culminates in a day when Dean refuses to leave his rooms for anything. Not for his meetings, not to see his advisor, not even to eat (which he still does, though he doesn’t have to.) Cas is worried about him, but Dean finally comes to him without any prompting later that night. This time Cas can’t ignore the tears, no more than he can ignore the crack in Dean’s voice when he says,

“I’m broken, Cas, I’m not a demon, I’m not a human. What am I?”

Cas blurts out,

“You’re Dean.”

And though Castiel thinks that that was singularly unhelpful, Dean relaxes minutely and slumps onto the bed beside him, leaning heavily onto him, so much so that Castiel has to slide an arm around his back to support him. Then Dean seals his fate by doing something he hasn’t done in centuries. He falls asleep.

There are dark circles under his eyes and his eyelashes brush against his cheekbones. Castiel doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. As he watches, Dean’s eyelids twitch and the pace of his breath quickens. Nightmares. Cas should have known. He debates over whether or not to wake Dean, but in doing this he allows the course of the nightmare to progress further. Allows it to reach the point were Dean begins to mutter under his breath, Cas is unable to tell what he’s saying to start with, and then when he can tell he begins to wish he couldn’t. Dean is pleading, with him or for him, he’s unsure, but the fact remains that Dean sounds utterly heart broken when he says,

“Cas, no.. not-”

And then Castiel wakes him, unable to stomach any more of this. He jerks awake and then stalks away, leaving Cas to stare after him, bemused and wondering what’s going to happen next.

What happens next is a slow slide into humanity that even the other demons can’t fail to notice, Dean neglects his duties during the day and roams the halls at night, as if trying to convince himself that he doesn’t need sleep, that he’s still a demon, just as he was before. He pushes himself to the point of exhaustion and then barrels straight through, pushing until he can’t anymore and he crashes, falling asleep wherever he is. Which is all well and good until he gets caught sleeping and well, that’s the beginning of the end. Needless to say, he’s informed he’s no longer welcome as King of Hell, they’re given a day’s grace to get out and Dean, he shuts down, leaving it to Cas to get them out of there. He does, of course. He’d do anything for Dean, he’s proven this time and time again, so when Dean asks, no, begs him not to take him back to Sam, he doesn’t. At least not at first.

First, they take a road trip to nowhere in particular, not that Dean would know this given that he sleeps through most of it. Cas watches him out of the corner of his eye, noting the shadows under his eyes growing marginally smaller each day. As it is, Dean sleeps and so doesn’t notice when they begin to wind their way back across the states towards Lebanon, back towards Sam, and the Bunker, and home.

Sam is, well, Sam is Sam when they finally get there. He hugs Dean tight enough that Cas is sure he can hear ribs creaking. Cas looks away and pretends he doesn’t see the shine of betrayal in Dean’s eyes when he looks his way. It’s worth it though, Cas thinks, it’s all worth it for the eventual smile on Dean’s face and the slow fading of both the Mark and the haunted expression that lingered on Dean’s face for weeks after their return to Earth. It’s worth it for the happiness in Sam’s expression because his brother has been returned to him.

Dean sleeps in the room meant for Cas, and Cas doesn't sleep, he doesn't need to. More weeks pass, weeks that Dean spends making burgers, feeding Sam up and tuning up the Impala, making sure she's ready to go. More worryingly to Castiel though, these weeks are also spent tuning up the Lincoln, something he can't help but take as a subliminal hint. With that and the fact that Dean's ignoring him, favouring Sam's company once again, Castiel takes his cue to leave.

It's when he's packed his one bag with the little he has and thrown it into the back of the Lincoln that Dean comes into the garage and sees him. The look of betrayal and upset on Dean's face isn't _fair_ because he's the one who was dropping hints. The tone of Dean's voice isn't fair either, the barely concealed hurt in it when he says

"Where are you going?" and brings Cas to a standstill, able only to say one thing,

"I don't know."

So when Dean takes his hand and mutters

"Stay." Castiel decides it's in his best interests to forget all about the percieved hints. And when Dean brings them together for a soft, chaste kiss that wipes every coherent thought from Cas' head other than, this, **_this_** is how their first kiss should have gone, Castiel loses every urge to leave and takes Dean by the hand, walking back into the Bunker and allowing the garage door to fall shut behind them.

There's sure to be more problems, more arguments, more misunderstandings, but this right now, this moment where they're all together and safe, this is more than worth all of it.


End file.
